


a step closer to freedom

by solrosan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Eggsy has good friends, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Purging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: Eggsy's friends notice that something is wrong. Eggsy wishes they wouldn't.
Relationships: Brandon (Kingsman) & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Jamal (Kingsman) & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Roxy Morton | Lancelot & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Ryan (Kingsman) & Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 66
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

“You alright?” 

Eggsy takes the cigarette Brandon passes him, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Why?”

They hang out of the window in Ryan’s tiny flat since they aren't allowed to smoke inside but are too lazy to go down. Eggsy’s been a Kingsman agent for less than four months. Life is hectic and crazy, Harry is dead and Eggsy has blood on his hands, but at least he has some free time to spend with his old friends again. He’s missed them. He has -- believe it or not -- missed this life.

Brandon shrugs. “Nah, I just… You seem a bit, I don’t know, off? Like when your mum started dating Dean.”

Eggsy blows smoke out of his nose, pretending to be a dragon. He’s only half-listening to Brandon. He hands the cigarette back.

“Swamped at work, is all,” he says. It’s not technically a lie and Brandon believes it. 

They both do.

* * *

It’s an absolute pain watching the game with his friends. The pizzas they have ordered smell heavenly and even if the others had believed him when he said he’d eaten before he came, his stomach does not.

He finally caves and takes a slice from Ryan. It tastes as good as it smells, but sits heavy in his stomach and he desperately regrets it. 

He has no recollection of which team wins that night.

* * *

Eggsy zips up his jacket and puts his hands deep in the pockets as they walk from the bus stop. 

“You feeling okay?” asks Ryan.

“Hm. Cold, innit?”

Ryan gives him a strange look. “No?”

Eggsy frowns. Maybe it isn’t? Ryan is just wearing a t-shirt. And it is June. It probably isn't cold, but he is. He shrugs.

“Maybe I’ve caught a bug from Daisy or something,” he mutters.

“Mm, maybe.”

Eggsy unzips his jacket when they get to Jamal’s, but he keeps it on for the entire evening.

* * *

Eggsy fumbles for the wall to support him. The world grows dark, but he squeezes his eyes shut. A deep breath and he opens his eyes again. There’s light again, but his heart is pounding and he still feels light headed. 

He has to get better at this. It keeps happening more frequently. This time it’s just on the way to the loo at Brandon’s place, but had he been on a mission…

He has to get better at this.

* * *

Jamal gets up from his side of the booth and comes over to Eggsy’s when Brandon and Ryan go out for a smoke. Eggsy doesn’t think twice about it. The pub is loud and crowded, and it’s hard to hear what people are saying unless you raise your voice.

“How are you?” asks Jamal.

“Fine?”

“You don’t look fine.”

Eggsy frowns a little. “Headache,” he admits.

“How’s work?”

“It's alright. Busy.”

Now it’s Jamal’s turn to frown and he looks intensely at Eggsy. “You know you can still talk to us, right?”

“Yep.”

“About whatever?”

“Yes. Jesus. It’s all fine, promise.”

“Just making sure.”

Eggsy grins, but he quickly changes the topic of conversation to Stranger Things.

* * *

Eggsy pours out the beer in the kitchen sink and refills the bottle with water. He opens the other three bottles as well so that no one will suspect that something’s off. He picks them up, the three with beer in one hand, and the one with water in the other. It’s tricky, but it’s worth it to be absolutely sure he won’t mix them up.

He heads back to Harry’s sitt-- to _his_ sitting room, where his friends are waiting for their refills round the poker table.

* * *

"What's happened?" asks Eggsy with an amused smile when he comes into the room. “What’s going on?”

Brandon, Jamal, and Ryan sit on the sofa in Brandon’s flat. Their backs are straight, they have both feet firmly on the floor and they all look very solemn. It looks ridiculous. Eggsy has come here to watch the game, but that’s apparently not going to happen.

“You want a beer?” asks Brandon. "Or... something?"

“I want to know what’s going on. What’s wrong?”

“Mate,” says Jamal, “sit down, alright?”

Frowning, Eggsy does as he’s asked and sits down in the worn armchair. 

“Right, so,” Jamal starts, clearing his throat. “First, we just want you to know that we all care about you and that we’ll support you, whatever's going on, whatever happens.”

The other two nods and Eggsy feels like laughing, because this is crazy. His friends, however, don’t seem to see it that way, so he tries to look as serious as they do.

There is a moment of silence, then Jamal asks, “How are you?”

“Weirded out?”

They don’t move a muscle, they just sit there looking at him. Watching him. ‘Weirded out’ doesn’t start to describe it to be honest, it’s some serious horror film bullshit. It almost ( _almost_ ) distracts him from the growing panic. 

They.

Know.

But how the fuck??

“I’m fine,” he says even if no one repeats the question. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“We’re worried about you,” says Brandon and the others nod and hum their agreement. “This new job, it ain’t good for you. You ain’t happy, you’re always tired.”

“You’ve lost weight;” Ryan says.

“No offens, but you look like shit,” says Jamal. 

“I’m fine,” Eggsy snaps. “You’re just jealous I’ve managed to get my arse out of here.” 

“No--”

“That’s not--”

“Eggsy--”

They talk over each other as they try to protest. Eggsy doesn’t hear any of them, he’s too annoyed. Frustrated. Upset. Scared. Busted. Ashamed. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters and gets up. The others also stand, but only Brandon follows him to the door.

“Eggsy, wait,” he says. “Don’t go. We didn’t mean-- We’re just worr--”

Eggsy closes the door before Brandon has a chance to finish the sentence and hurries down the stairs and out the building. His mobile chimes. He has at least four texts before he’s even on the street. 

He doesn’t bother reading them.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

The bell pings when Brandon steps into the tailor shop. He lets the door fall close behind him as he looks around the showroom. He hasn’t felt more out of place for as long as he can remember and he’s acutely aware that his blue polo is missing a button. 

An old man comes out from a back room and Brandon quickly takes his cap off. The look the man gives Brandon makes him feel like something nasty that’s stuck under a shoe. 

“I’m looking for Roxy… Morton,” he says, clearing his throat. “Is she here?”

The man raises his eyebrows. “Is Ms Morton expecting you?”

“Nah, I’m just a friend.”

“I see,” says the man, twisting his lips. “Who can I say is asking for her?”

“Brandon Jones,” he says, and then adds quickly, “and I’m not a friend-friend. More a friend of a friend, yeah?”

The man behind the counter gives him a long, judgemental glare before picking up the phone on the desk. He keeps eye contact with Brandon as he waits for a reply. Brandon does his best to not move a muscle. 

“Ah, Ms Morton, sorry to bother you,” the man says when someone finally seems to pick up. “There’s a… gentleman here, a Mr Brandon Jones, who says you have a mutual acquaintance and he wants to speak with you. Yes, ma’am. Yes.”

He hangs up and drags out the silence a bit longer. “Please sit down, sir. Ms Morton will be with you shortly.”

Brandon smiles and nods. Flies and Honey and all that. And he really doesn’t want to be thrown out. For that reason, he doesn’t sit down and instead he remains standing, holding his cap with both hands and making it very obvious that he won’t touch anything.

The man behind the counter watches him like a hawk. 

No wonder Eggsy’s changed.

Roxy comes down after a few minutes, wearing a suit and tie and the same type of glasses he’s seen Eggsy wear at times. Brandon can’t help sighing with relief at the sight of her.

“Brandon?” says Roxy a bit confused, holding out her hand to him. “We met at Eggsy’s birthday, right?”

Brandon nods and shakes her hand. “Yes. Can we get a coffee or something?”

Roxy looks surprised.

“I ain’t coming on to you, I just need to talk to you, and eh…” He throws a quick glance over her shoulder at the man who’s still watching him. “And I don’t think we should do it here.”

Roxy frowns. “Sure.” She turns to the man. “Popping out, Andrew, don’t know how long I’ll be.”

The man, Andrew, nods once. Brandon gives him a bright smile as they leave.

“So where do you get coffee ‘round here?” says Brandon when they step out on the pavement.

“There’s Thomas’s a bit that way,” says Roxy and points, “but we don’t have to, we can just go for a walk.”

“Nah, let’s get coffee,” Brandon says, putting his cap back on. “Feels less like I’m wasting your time that way.”

Roxy smiles at that and they start to walk in the direction she pointed out.

“You and Eggsy are mates, right?” Brandon asks cautiously. 

“Yes.”

“And if I tell you something you won’t get him in trouble, yeah?” 

“Depends on what it is, really.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

“So what’s going on?” 

“Coffee first,” says Brandon, since he can see the coffee place Roxy talked about. Roxy accepts this without a word, holding up the door for him when they get there.

It’s a fancy place, but Brandon doesn’t feel as out of place now as he did at the shop. Part of it is because the crowd is younger and the fact that no one pays them any attention. The bigger part is probably Roxy’s company, but he doesn’t want to think about that too much. 

“What do you want?” he asks when it’s their turn to order.

“You don’t have to--”

“Come on.”

“A cappuccino.”

He orders a cappuccino and a latte to go, both are painfully overpriced, but he doesn’t comment. He had insisted. As they wait for their coffee, Roxy keeps glancing at him and he pretends to not see it. 

“Now talk,” says Roxy as soon as they are out of the coffee shop. 

Brandon takes a deep breath through his nose. “We think something’s wrong with Eggsy. Like. Really wrong.”

“We being…?”

“Me, Ryan, and Jamal. He says it’s work, but we ain’t buying that. No offence, you’re tailors, how hard can it be?”

Roxy takes a sip of her coffee and burns her tongue. She curses. 

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thanks,” mutters Roxy, but she seems more concerned than annoyed. “Why do you think there’s something wrong with Eggsy?”

“He’s not himself.”

“I need something more concrete.”

“We know, alright? We’ve known him all our lives and something’s off. He’s changed.”

“Yes, but I’ve only known him, like, a year, and I haven’t noticed, so give me something.”

“He… Don’t tell him I’ve told you this, yeah?”

Roxy nods. “Okay.”

“He’s quieter, he cancels stuff last minute, we think he’s lost weight, he’s tired, like a lot. Gets headaches. If I didn’t know he’d never touch it, I’d say he’s on drugs or some shit.”

“Have you asked him?”

“If he’s using?” Brandon shakes his head. “We tried talking to him a few weeks back, but he just up and left. And now he ain’t talking to us no more.”

Roxy’s eyes grew wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so. Can you, like, keep an eye on him?”

“I won’t spy on him and report back to you or anything.”

“No. Fuck, no, that’s not what I-- We’re just worried, is all. And if he ain’t talking to us, he should, he needs to… He needs a friend. So I thought… Well, he talks the best about you.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, promise.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” She smiles briefly. “I should head back. Thanks for the coffee, and the… intel.”

“Any time.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“If you get the chance, you tell him he won’t get rid of us.”

Roxy smiles again. “I will. See you around.”

“See you.”

Roxy turns around and walks back to the shop. Brandon watches her for a few steps before walking the other way. He really hopes that was the right thing to do.

* * *

“I owe you a coffee.”

Brandon is surprised to see Roxy waiting outside his work. She’s not dressed in a suit this time, but snug jeans and a red jumper. He hasn’t heard a pip from her (or Eggsy) for two months. She looks very serious and his heart drops, preparing for bad news.

“There’s a place next to the tube,” he says and they fall into step with each other. “How is he?”

“He’s erm… Let’s get that coffee.” 

He wants to ask a thousand questions, but he doesn’t. He just walks quietly next to her until they come to the tube station. She buys them a black coffee each and they sit down on a bench near a car park.

“How did you know where I work?” he asks.

“Some Facebook stalking, not that hard.” She frowns. “That sounds super creepy when I say it like that. Is it super creepy?”

Brandon smiles. “Nah, but had it been the other way around, you’d probably have called the cops on me.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t worry. I show up at your work, you show up at mine. Fair’s fair.”

Roxy smiles as well. She sips her coffee and then takes a deep breath. 

“So…” she starts, “you’re not going to tell him I’ve told you this, are you?”

Brandon shakes his head. “Promise.”

Roxy looks at him, she hesitates. Brandon holds his breath. 

“I think he has an eating disorder.”

“What?”

“Like anorex--”

“I know what a fucking eating disorder is!”

Roxy taps the paper cup with one finger. She’s uncertain, worried, and she turns to look out over the crowded car park. Brandon glances in the same direction to see what she’s looking at, trying to make sense of what she’s told him.

“You sure?” he finally asks.

She shakes her head. “No. Or… yes, I’m pretty sure.”

“But Eggsy’s like, the fittest bloke I know.”

“It doesn’t make much sense to me either.”

“But you’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Damn…” Brandon breathes out. “Almost wish it was drugs now.”

“Me too. So now what?”

Brandon shrugs. “Don’t know. He still ain’t talking to us, and if we go to him and ask him this? Can’t see that going well, can you?”

“No, probably not.”

“Better we than you, though, right?” says Brandon. “So that he doesn’t shut you out too, yeah?”

“I was thinking I’d talk to our chief designer and--”

“Nah. No. No. Don’t rat him out, not yet, let us try first, yeah? If it goes to shits, you can do what you think is best. But let us try.”

“Sure.”

They sit in silence for a bit, both of them watching cars circle the car park in the hopes of finding a spot. 

“He’s so, so lucky to have you,” says Roxy. “I hope he knows that.”

Brandon gives her a weak smile. “He’s lucky to have you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I haven't said this before (though to some of you it's pretty obvious, I'm sure) but these chapters aren't betaed. If you see something terribly wrong with the English, please poke me?

Brandon raises his hand to get Eggsy’s attention when he steps into the pub. Eggsy nods and walks over, smiling as if the last time they met didn’t end in him storming out. After a bit of soul searching, Brandon has decided to talk to Eggsy alone and not ambush him again before he knows more. He hasn’t even told the other two about Roxy’s theories yet. He’s so nervous he can’t return Eggsy’s smile.

“Sorry I’ve been a stranger,” is the first words out of Eggsy’s mouth as he pulls out the chair. He moves it so he has his back against the wall. “Work’s been mental and Daisy has trouble at daycare… it’s been a lot.”

“What’s with Daisy?”

Eggsy makes a face. “Apparently she’s a bully? I don’t even know.”

“Daisy? Sweet, little Daisy?”

“Mum’s muttering about her having too much Dean in her…” Eggsy shakes his head as if it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “Want a beer?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Eggsy jumps to his feet again and goes to the bar. Brandon watches him closely. Is there a way to tell if Roxy’s right without asking? Would someone with anorexia or whatever drink beer? He looks great right now, happy, healthy. What if they are wrong? What if it’s not an eating disorder? What if he’ll fuck up and make whatever this is worse?

“What’s up with you?” says Eggsy when he comes back with two lager and sits down again.

“Nothing, same as always,” Brandon says hastily, just to get it out of the way and stumbles into the next part to make sure Eggsy doesn’t have time to say anything else. “Listen, Eggsy… mate… Last time, with Jamal and Ryan, you know we just did that because we care about you, yeah?”

It’s like flipping a switch and the smile on Eggsy’s face disappears. 

Fucking hell. 

“Yeah, I know,” Eggsy says, “but I’m fine.”

Brandon shakes his head. “We thought you were fucking using.” 

“I ain’t.”

“I know. Now.” He moves his beer so he can lean over the table. “I have to… I... Please don’t leave. I’d rather you’d punch me in the face and stay, okay?”

Eggsy doesn’t move a muscle. 

Brandon waits. And waits. But nothing happens. No reaction whatsoever. He wets his lips.

“You think you have anorexia?”

Eggsy frowns. “That’s a rich girls’ thing, innit?”

“It’s a people not eating thing.”

“That’s just starving.”

“And what the fuck do you think anorexia is?”

Eggsy moves so quickly. Brandon doesn’t even see it coming, but it hurts like Hell when Eggsy’s fist meets his cheek.

“Hey!” the bartender yells. “None of that in here!”

“It’s fine,” mutters Brandon, holding a hand over where Eggsy punched him, his eyes watering from the pain. He looks at Eggsy, who in spite of looking somewhere between furious and gutted still stays. “It’s fine… Fuck, you hit good.”

“The fuck did you expect?”

Brandon puts on a smile, still gently touching his cheek, but reaching for his beer with the other hand. They drink in silence, or Brandon drinks and Eggsy sits with his arms crossed looking at his beer.

“Want to go somewhere else and talk?” Brandon asks when he’s about two thirds down his beer.

Eggsy shakes his head.

“You want to hit me again, don’t you?”

Eggsy cracks a smile. It disappears when he rubs his faces and sighs. “I’m fine.”

“You ain’t.”

“Yes, I’m--”

“You fucking ain’t, so get off it. But Eggs, it’s alright. It’s alright to not be fine. And we’re here. Me and Jamal and Ryan” -- he makes a split decision -- “and Roxy. We’re all here.”

Eggsy looks at him in horror as he says Roxy’s name. “What the fuck have you told Roxy?”

“Mate… she told me.”

That destroys what self control Eggsy has left. He breaks eye contact and it seems to take a moment for him to remember that he needs to breathe. That hurts more than the punch in the face.

Brandon gets up. He puts a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Eggsy follows without a word. It’s already dark outside, a bit chilly. Brandon takes a deep breath. He feels a stone lighter having got this far, but one look at Eggsy and he knows he’s just moved that weight from his own shoulders to his.

“My place?” he says, but he only gets a shrug in reply. He coxes Eggsy by tugging lightly at the sleeve of his jacket. Eggsy puts his hands in his pockets and follows. 

After a few streets walking in silence, Eggsy stops. “I’m going home.”

“Mate…”

“No, I’m going home.”

“You sure?”

Eggsy nods. “I’m going home.”

“Alright. Text me when you get there, yeah? And tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Good. And Eggs… I mean it. We’re here. All of us. Roxy too, she ain’t going to rat you out or anything. She’s solid.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Brandon hesitates, wanting to hug him, but opts for not doing it. Instead he smiles, Eggsy almost does the same before turning and walking away. Still with his hands in his pockets.

Brandon sighs as he watches him go. He’s not sure if this went good or bad.

* * *

_I think I fucked up_

Roxy sighs when she gets her phone out of the locker and sees the text from Brandon. She’s just finished a sparring session with some of the older agents and she feels completely beaten up. And her pride is hurt since she knows they all held back.

_Assuming it didn’t go well?_

_Didn’t go bad but I told him you knew and that freaked him out_

She makes a frustrated noise and is about to tell him that he’d promised not to, but she thinks better of it. Who knows how that conversation with Eggsy had gone? Weirdly enough, she trusts Brandon to have made the right choice in the moment.

Her phone vibrates in her hand.

_You seen him today_  
_?_

_He came in as usual._ she types and sends. Eggsy had slipped in late to the Table meeting this morning, nothing indicating that something was amiss. Either he’s a better agent than she knows, or she’s a worse agent than she thinks.

Or a worse friend...

 _Aces_ Brandon types back, then adding, _He sent me a peacock and a tiger this morning so at least I knew hes alive_

Roxy smiles and wonders if there is a significant meaning to the emojis Eggsy sent or if they were as random as they sound.

 _Want me to try talking to him?_ she asks.

Brandon starts to type a reply three times before he sends it. _Probably good if you do_

_Okay, I’ll talk to you later._

She gets a thumbs up to that and puts away her mobile to hit the shower. This has the possibility to go disastrously bad.

* * *

Four days. That’s how long Roxy’s conscious lets her postpone the conversation with Eggsy. In the beginning it’s easy for her to explain it away -- different schedules, doesn't want to corner him so soon after Brandon’s talk, always other people around -- and each night when she leaves the shop, she texts Brandon to say she’s not done it yet so that he isn’t expecting anything. Every time he replies with an animal emoji. Not once is it a chicken.

What really forces the issue is her next assignment. She wishes it was something else, but it’s the prospect of not fulfilling her promise to Brandon before she leaves the country to perhaps not come back that does it. Of course it’s about Eggsy too, but… 

She’s not proud of it. At all.

She seeks Eggsy out in his office. He spends a lot of time in there, mostly studying languages according to himself. And it’s not that she doesn’t believe him, but it has turned into a great way of isolating himself. She hasn’t planned on doing it in here, but then she hasn’t planned this at all. 

Which might be just as well. 

“Do you have a moment?” she asks as she opens the door.

Eggsy looks up, his face going instantly neutral. “No.”

Roxy ignores him and steps inside anyway, closing the door behind her. “I know you know that Brandon and I have talked about you,” she says after an extra breath. “And I know he’s talked to you.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know what the two of you have been smoking, but I’m--”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she interrupts him. “But I’m leaving for Peru tomorrow, and I--”

“With Percival?”

Roxy nods. There’s a flash of sorrow in Eggsy’s eyes and Roxy feels a sting of guilt over how excited she is about going on a mission with her mentor. She really wishes that Eggsy could have got that too. That’s not what she came to talk about though, and she will not let him change the topic.

“Don’t shut them out, okay?” she says. “Brandon, Ryan, Jamal… they are on your side and you’ll need them. They really care about you, no matter what. And if I come back, I’m here too. I’m not going to, I’m not telling Merlin or Arthur. That’s your job, when you’re ready.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I do. Trust me, I get it. And that voice in your head is fucking lying to you, Eggsy.”

They look at each other, Eggsy lips pressed together in a thin line. Roxy fights hard to keep eye contact. 

“The voice is lying,” says Roxy again. “I don’t know what it tells you, but it is.”

“Seriously, Rox, I don’t have time for this. I have a million things to do.”

“Sure. Right.” Roxy clears her throat. “I need to go get ready. I should be back next Thursday.”

Eggsy pretends to smile. “I’ll talk to you then.”

She’s about to ask him to promise that, but doesn’t. Instead she pretends to smile as well and leaves. The last thing she hears before closing the door is Eggsy yelling ‘Good luck!’

She sends Brandon a text telling him that she’s talked to Eggsy and that it went okay. Brandon replies within seconds with a heart emoji. That one Roxy feels pretty sure she knows what it means.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan sits on the sofa, one leg pulled up underneath him. Netflix starts to play another episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and he glances up from his mobile for long enough to find the remote and skip the intro before he goes back to reading.

He’d started the evening on Wikipedia, reading the article about eating disorders. Now he’s lost track of how many links he’s clicked on in this never ending tree of terrible knowledge. In the back of his head a voice tells him to read the NHS or something to at least compare notes, but there are just too many terms he’s never heard of, too many definitions to sort out.

Anorexia. Bulimia. Binge eating. Muscle dysmorphia. COE. Orthorexia.

Mental disorder. Anxiety disorders. Depression.

Not Eggsy?

Ryan hadn’t believed Brandon when he’d told them. After hours of reading he still isn’t sure about this. What he is sure about though, is that he wishes he’d never read half of what he’s read tonight. And that if it is true, if Eggsy has one of these (no matter which one, to be honest), then he really needs some fucking help.

Ryan’s just not sure he’s the right person for that. Or what he can do. Or what any of them can do.

_Have you read this?_

Jamal sends a text with a link, but Ryan just swipes it away and keeps on reading along his own horrible article. He doesn’t need more input right now, doesn’t want it.

Brandon replies to Jamal’s link with a giraffe. Ryan sighs and sends a koala.

The chat group is quiet for the rest of the night.

* * *

Jamal pulls off his sweaty t-shirt on the short walk between the front door and the kitchen. He turns on the tap to let the water run cold as he looks for a clean enough glass. He’s been out running, it’s usually a good way to clear his head but tonight it had been completely useless in that regard. Part of it is his own fault for listening to a pod about anorexia nervosa, but he’s going to blame Brandon for all of it.

Because he can’t blame Eggsy. 

What Brandon had told them a week ago ago is as hard to process tonight as it had been then, and no running in the world seems able to help. No reading blogs or listening to pods either. It has thrown Jamal down a pretty dark hole, even if he’s now trying to find the positive stories, the recovery ones, the ones that don’t end in life-long suffering and death.

He fills the glass with water, drinks it and refills it again before turning off the tap. With the glass in one hand and the t-shirt in the other, he goes to the bathroom. He drops the shirt in the laundry basket and finishes the water as he studies himself in the mirror. He has done that a lot lately, looking at himself, wondering what would potentially push him over the edge.

He feels like shit. He had been so sure Eggsy had started using drugs -- amphetamine or something to keep up with the new job. But now this? Eggsy is sick and he had thought… he had suspected him of… 

Jamal steps into the shower, but the hot water isn’t any better at freeing him from the gnawing feeling of guilt and shame than the running.

* * *

Brandon erases the reddit post he’s written.

He sighs and glances at the clock on the microwave. If he’s not out the door in twenty minutes he’ll miss the bus and be late for work. He wants to send this to the mods before he leaves, though, and he wants this to sound proper. Whatever that is. Something along the lines of how Eggsy sounds these days. He imagines he’ll get a better response that way. Which is bullshit. The way you talk (or in this case write) shouldn’t make a difference, but it does, he knows it does. He’s even switched from his mobile to his laptop to make sure autocorrect won’t do anything funny...

Eggsy has once again stopped replying to texts. It’s only been three days of radio silence, but Brandon doesn’t want to risk it becoming a trend. Again.

So he starts over. He mouths the word as he types them, trying to imagine someone posh saying them. It doesn’t work, it makes it sound contrived and fake. A third attempt. A fourth attempt. 

He looks at the clock again. Shit.

He makes a fifth attempt and then he sends it. He slams the laptop close and runs out the door. If he’s lucky, there will be a red light delaying the bus because then he might just make it in time. He can’t afford being late for work.

* * *

_r/EatingDisorders • Posted by u/EDPostRequests • 2 hours ago_

**Request: How can we be there for our mate (m26) until he figures out he needs help?**

> I’ve tried to read through most threads here and I’m sorry if I missed one already dealing with this, but here we go.
> 
> We’re four guys who have been mates since first day of school. A while back one of us started this new job and after that he changed. We’ve just learned that he has an eating disorder and that’s why he’s been acting all cagey. Like, he avoids us, chancels stuff we say we’d do, doesn’t reply to texts, stuff like that. It’s like he’s ghosting us after a bad date. (He’d never do that to a bird, he’s mum taught him manners while she still cared enough about him.)
> 
> We’ve tried to talk to him but he just shuts off and pushes us away when we do. Like I get it. We’re shit at talking about stuff like this, real stuff.. Especially sober. But he’s our mate and we can’t just sit on our arses when he needs help. And he needs help even if he doesn’t know it or want it. He gets headaches. He’s always tired. He’s lost weight (which he doesn’t need) He’s not himself. He’s not happy.
> 
> Any tips on how we can be supportive and let him know we’ll be around? How do we show him that ‘we’re here for you’ isn’t just something we say and make sure he knows that we’ll still be here when he’s ready to get help, even if he tries to freeze us out?
> 
> We’re not giving up on him.


	5. Chapter 5

Roxy comes back to Kingsman on a stretcher. It’s nothing serious, except it is. A concussion and three broken ribs are not to play with, the doctor, Percival, and Merlin have told her. Like she doesn’t know that! She’s fallen off more horses than either of those gentlemen have ever mounted. Combined! 

Knowing it doesn’t make it less boring to be put on bed rest, though, but at least the selection of audiobooks and podcasts is better now than the last time. After three days her ears still feel like they are bleeding. Half-way through this week’s My Favorite Murder, the door opens as a more than welcome distraction. 

Roxy slowly moves her head to see Eggsy come in. The light is dim, but she can still see him smile and she takes off her headphones.

“They say I’m allowed to come visit now,” says Eggsy, his voice quiet, as he comes up to the bed. “How are you?”

“Bored.” Roxy sighs. “And tired. And it hurts when I breathe.”

“Heard from Percy that you got her though.”

Roxy grins. “Something like that.”

It had been a bit of a mess of things, bad intel and a lot of improvising, but they had got the job done, which is the most important thing, really.

“It’s good to see you’re still alive,” says Eggsy, clearing his throat, “but I should let you rest.”

“No, stay,” she begs, gripping after his hand. “Please? I’m going crazy here all alone. Tell me about the world outside. Is the sky still blue? Is Merlin still bald?”

Eggsy hesitates for a moment, but then he goes to fetch a chair and pulls it up next to her bed. 

“Sky’s still blue, Merlin’s still bald,” he says, “now tell me how it was working with Percival.”

“It was…” Roxy frowns, searching for the right word. “Strange? A bit scary.”

And amazing and exciting and so goddamn inspiring that she doesn’t know where to start. Perhaps some day she might be able to share all of that with Eggsy, but not when he still grieves the loss of his own mentor. So she leaves it at ‘scary’ because that’s true, too, but it efficiently kills the conversation and an awkward silence stretches between them. Roxy almost regrets that she asked him to stay because there’s a really obvious elephant in the room that she’s having harder to ignore by the second. Eggsy absently picks at her blanket, clearly aware of the elephant as well.

“That thing you and Brandon talked about…” he mumbles, still focused on her blanket.

“Mm,” Roxy hums, to prompt him to go on, but when he doesn’t she reaches for his hand again. Her heart is beating hard when he lifts his eyes and meets hers. He looks so damn insecure.

“Can’t be a field agent if you have that shit, can you?”

Roxy shrugs. She has no idea.

“You ain’t gonna tell on me, are you? It’s not-- I’m okay. It ain’t a problem.”

She shakes her head as much as she dares. It would have taken her ages to notice that something was off to begin with if it hadn’t been for Brandon and it’s hard to say how long it’ll take before anyone else at the agency does. No one here has known him long enough to know what’s a change in behaviour and what’s just Eggsy.

But she’s not going to be the one telling. Not yet at least.

“Have you talked to Brandon and the others about this?” she asks. “Or at all?”

Eggsy shakes his head.

She squeezes his hand. “I get if you don’t want to talk about it with me or on the premises, but can you promise me to have a beer or something with them before they let me out of here? Because nothing good comes from isolating yourself in Harry’s old place.”

Eggsy smiles weakly and gives her hand a squeeze back. “Promise.”

Roxy decides that she trusts him, even if a voice in the back of her head tells her that she probably shouldn’t. One step at the time, though, and she’s terrified to push too hard.

* * *

Eggsy takes a deep breath before knocking and trying the door to Brandon’s flat. It’s locked, so he takes half a step back to wait for someone to come and open. He feels sick with nerves, but he’s promised Roxy to not shut them out so when they started to talk about watching the game in the group chat, he’d said he’d come. And now here he is.

The lock turns and Brandon opens the door, from further in, Eggsy can hear Ryan throw profanities at the telly. 

“You missed kick-off,” Brandon says, highly judgemental, in greeting as he steps aside to let him in, but Eggsy can tell by his smile that he, too, is anxious.

“I sent a text!”

“You still missed kick-off.” 

Eggsy rolls his eyes. Coming late is by design, he thought that if he came a bit later, most of the focus would be on the game and not on if he has a slice of pizza or whatever. Judging by the sound of it, he might just be right. He looks in the direction of the yelling and then at Brandon.

“You’ve told them, right?”

Brandon nods solemnly. “Had to.”

“Figured.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” says Eggsy, pressing for a smile, even as he just wants to run out again. “It’s fine.”

Brandon smiles as well, hitting him lightly in the arm. “Glad you’re here.”

Eggsy tries a little harder with the smile and goes to the sitting room as Brandon locks up. Jamal looks up and gives him a smile when he enters, Ryan doesn’t spare him a glance, just lifts his hand in an uninterested wave. Like always. 

Everything is like it always is when they watch football.

Except...

...there’s no pizza. No chips, no crisps. No popcorn. Just beer. 

Eggsy stands there, confused, blinking at whatever this is. Brandon buffs his shoulder as he makes his way past him to sit down next to Ryan. He points in the direction of the kitchen. 

“You know where the fridge is,” he says before joining Ryan in cursing out the ref. 

Eggsy looks at them for another moment, how different this is from last time they had been together all four of them yet so similar to every time before that. The anxiety from just a few seconds ago morphs into something he can’t identify or dare examine, so instead he goes to get that beer.

The fridge is disturbingly empty (save for the beer), even compared with Eggsy’s own. Eggsy makes a note of that, and smiles at the picture of the four of them from two summers ago that Brandon keeps on the fridge door, when he closes it.

“Eggs…”

Eggsy turns around just as Jamal throws the bottle opener to him.

“Forgot I took it with me,” says Jamal. After a deep breath, he continues, “So you know, Brandon told us. About...”

“Yeah, he said,” Eggsy mumbles. The way Jamal looks at him, like he’s broken or fragile or something, makes his skin crawl.

“If there’s anyth--”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, if--”

“Yeah.”

“Eggsy!” Jamal raises his voice. “Let me just say this, alright?”

Eggsy blinks in surprise, but then he nods.

“If we do something wrong, let us know and we’ll stop, yeah? When you need us, we’ll be there, and in the meantime, we want you to be here. So if we do something that makes you feel like shit, tell us. We’re thick headed as fuck and we don’t know what to do.”

Eggsy wants to protest that they aren’t thickheaded at all, that they figured this shit out faster than a group of highly trained spies. Hell, they knew something was wrong even before he had known it himself. He doesn’t like it when they talk about themselves like that, because they are many things but definitely not stupid. 

Saying any of that is like admitting to something he’s not entirely ready for, but he realises that he’s far beyond the point of standing his ground and denying it.

He opens his beer. “Let’s just watch the game, yeah?”

“Yeah, right. Sure.” Jamal goes to the fridge and takes out three more beers. “We’re almost out. Bring the opener, will you?”

Eggsy follows him to the other room, a weird sense of relief in his chest, and squeezes himself down next to Ryan who glares at him and then takes his beer.

“Cheers, you shouldn’t have.”

Eggsy takes it back. “I didn’t. Jamal has yours.”

“Close your mouth, please,” says Jamal in his best (yet catastrophic) Julie Andrews impression, and hands Ryan a bottle. “Be a good boy and drink in silence.”

Brandon snorts, spraying beer everywhere. He jumps up, cursing, and Eggsy and Jamal burst out laughing. 

“Fuckers,” mutters Brandon as he goes to get some paper towels. “If you take my seat, Jamal, I’ll _end_ you.”

As if it’s an invitation to do just that, Jamal flops down on the sofa next to Ryan and puts his feet on the table. 

“You have a death wish?” Eggsy asks him.

Jamal takes a sip of the beer. “He won’t kill me until half-time, and by then he’s forgotten about it.”

“You two just _shut up_ and watch the game?” says Ryan.

“You fucking started this by taking my beer!” Eggsy protests just as Brandon comes back to see that he has lost his spot on the sofa and all hell breaks loose for real.

By the end of the night, Eggsy has no idea who won and can’t remember when he last laughed this much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This chapter includes a description of purging. If you want to skip it, it's the two paragraphs after the single-word line "Almost."
> 
> * * *

Svalbard is a beautiful place.

Eggsy has never seen the midnight sun before. It’s the same sun as always, except it’s not. Yet it is. It’s surreal and absolutely breathtaking. Sadly, this isn’t a vacation. He has been sent here with Tristan to neutralise a nuclear electromagnetic pulse cannon that an alien worshipping sect has built for reasons no one's perfectly clear of. 

Tristan is somewhere down at the power station while Eggsy waits up on a nearby cliff, ready to provide backup and cover with a sniper rifle. The minutes are dragging themselves by. Eggsy has lost track of how long it has been since they split up and the never-setting sun is of no help, but then his head's not in it either. Not really. He feels restless and can’t focus no matter how hard he tries, because all he can think of is the burger Tristan had bought him. And the chips. The burger and the chips. And how he had eaten all of it, because there was no good reason to turn it down. 

He feels nauseous. And disgusting. And just so goddamn heavy that nothing else seems to matter.

It was just a burger and chips, it was just a burger and chips. It was a burger and chips. 

He almost starts crying. 

It’s not worth it. This is not worth it. He has to fix this so he can do his job.

He puts the safety on the rifle and leaves it where it is. A small voice in the back of his head whispers that Merlin will go insane if he learns that he’s left a weapon like that, but he shuts it up and puts his glasses in his inner pocket as he walks away. It’ll be fine. He’ll be quick. 

He gets off the cliff, a short bit into the trees. He can almost still see where he left the rifle. 

Almost.

He supports himself with his left hand against a tree as he leans forward. He takes two deep, almost panting breaths before he sticks two fingers down his throat. It makes him gag, but not much more. After another few deep breaths he tries again and this time it works. Up come the chips and the burger, and it’s such a fucking relief. Two more times he does it before he’s satisfied that he got it all.

He spits and blows his nose in his hand, looking at the mess he’s made. That had been easy enough. He feels so much lighter, like the weight of the world is off him, not just the half-kilo of grease and fat he just got rid of. Even with the taste of sick in his mouth, it's like he can finally _breathe_ again. 

Eggsy wipes his hand and mouth on his pocket square. He can’t make a habit of it when he’s home, he knows that, but for missions it’ll be fine. Eat with whoever he’s out with, then get rid of it. Maybe have a sandwich or something later to keep the blood sugar stable. Perhaps start keeping some hand wipes in the suits… He stuffs the pocket square back in his trouser pocket. 

He starts to head back, putting on his glasses again. Instantly he hears Merlin’s voice. 

“--are you, Galahad?”

Eggsy grows cold. “What?”

“The fuck have you done with your glasses?”

“Nothing, I just--”

“Get back! _Now!_ ”

Eggsy starts running. He’s back in position within seconds and unfastens the rifle on muscle memory before he even looks through the scope. 

“Fuck,” he whispers when he does. He takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose -- it still smells like vomit -- before pulling the trigger. 

When he breathes again, five men are dead, three by his bullets and two by Tristan’s hands. Through the scope he sees Tristan, blood covering half his face, his glasses broken, looking up in his direction as if he searches for him.

Eggsy feels like throwing up again, for completely different reasons, and swallows repeatedly. 

“Galahad,” comes Merlin’s stern voice over the glasses, “get your arse down there and make damn sure both of you are on the helicopter back.”

Eggsy doesn’t reply, he can’t. He disassembles the rifle as quickly as humanly possible and hurries down. When he finally reaches the power station, Tristan has just enough strength left to punch him in the face. Eggsy has never felt like he deserves something more.

* * *

Eggsy sits in Harry’s fucking chair at the Table, staring at the back of the chair in front of him. He can’t look Merlin in the eyes as he gives his account of what happened in Svalbard. The mission was successful and Tristan’s injuries looked way worse than they turned out to be, but Eggsy can’t stop thinking about what might have happened if he hadn't been back at the rifle when he had.

“I went to pee,” he says, his voice flat. He can almost taste the grease and the salt of the chips as he says it. “Didn’t think it’d take that long.”

Two days he’s had to come up with that brilliant lie… What a spy he is!

“I suppose we’re all lucky you didn’t need to take a shit,” Merlin, who hasn't interrupted once, mutters when Eggsy is finally done. “Go home, Galahad. Send in your written report of this cock-up and then come back when you’ve learned to keep your glasses on.”

Eggsy gets out of Harry’s chair -- he should never have been in it in the first place -- and with some effort meets Merlin’s eyes. There’s a tired disappointment there that crushes whatever tiny shard of confidence he has left.

“This isn’t how you want to have a fellow agent’s life on your conscience,” says Merlin. “It’s a heavy enough burden to bear.”

Eggsy nods.

“So don’t do it again.” Merlin sighs. “There’s no need for modesty. God knows my poor staff has seen worse.”

The last part he adds addressing his clipboard rather than Eggsy. Eggsy waits another moment in case there is something more, but since he’s already been dismissed once he quietly leaves when Merlin doesn’t say anything else.

On the way home in the cab, he takes out his phone and opens his conversation with Roxy. The latest thing she sent was an encouraging good luck and a flexing arm before he left for Svalbard. For the longest time (or at least for three streets in London traffic) he just looks at it. He takes a deep breath and types a message.

_Turns out you really can’t be a field agent with this shit_

Then he turns his phone off before she has a chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this fic has grown a chapter. This is mostly due to the fact that the first part of what now is chapter 7 grew into something I hadn't expected.


	7. Chapter 7

Eggsy looks like absolute shit when he opens the door to let Brandon in. He’s pale, his eyes hollow, and going by the state of his hair he hasn’t showered for a few days. What really gets Bradon’s attention though, is the faint memory of a bruise under his left eye. It makes him feel sick, because what the fuck else have they missed? 

Together they try to keep J.B. from escaping. In the end, Brandon lifts him up, giggling as the pug licks his face. He’s so jealous of Eggsy who can afford having a dog. 

“Sorry about the, um, mess,” says Eggsy when Brandon has put J.B. back down on the floor. “Been on a… business trip. Haven’t had time to...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They look at each other, both awkward and unsure of what to do next. After two hours of IM conversations -- mostly consisting of memes -- Eggsy had asked Brandon if he could come over. Brandon had been on the first tube, not knowing what to expect when he got here, but it’s a relief that Eggsy had opened the door himself.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” says Eggsy quietly. He has said that exact same thing twice during their chat. “I don’t… I…”

Something completely shatters in Brandon’s chest as Eggsy tries, but fails, to find words -- or just his voice -- to finish the sentence. 

“Mate,” says Brandon, taking a small step towards him. When Eggsy doesn’t back away, he takes another one and puts his arms around him. He doesn’t hold him too close, in case Eggsy doesn’t want to, but Eggsy leans into his embrace and hugs him back.

“We’re here,” Brandon mumbles and hugs him tighter. “I’m here. We’re here. We’ll help you figure it out. It’s okay.”

Eggsy shakes his head against his shoulder. And he’s right, it’s not okay, nothing of this is okay. Except that Eggsy finally admits to something. Brandon’s not sure what yet, but it’s okay. 

Reaching out is okay.

It’s more than okay.

* * *

Brandon sits on the floor in Eggsy’s sitting room and shuffles a deck of cards against the coffee table while Eggsy puts some water on his face. It has taken Brandon three runs to the kitchen to clear the table from half-empty mugs and old tea bags. That, in combination with Eggsy’s hair, makes Brandon pretty sure that there hasn’t been a business trip. The entire house needs some tidying up, really, and if Eggsy just lets him, Brandon’s going to do something about it before he leaves. He hasn’t learned much from his mum, but at least he’d picked up on the fact that a tidy home can help keep depression at bay.

“Want tea or something?” asks Eggsy, suddenly appearing in the doorway, looking marginally better than before. 

“Er, sure. Tea’s fine.”

Eggsy turns on the spot and goes to the kitchen. Brandon stares after him, tapping the deck of cards against the table. He shuffles them again. And again. Anything to keep his hands busy as he listens to what Eggsy does in the kitchen.

“Need help?” he yells after a while. 

“Nah,” comes the reply. “You just sit your pretty arse down there.”

“What have I told you about checking out my arse?”

That doesn’t get an answer, but Brandon still feels at ease by that short glimpse of the old Eggsy. Soon after, he bursts out laughing when Eggsy comes back to the room carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups on saucers. 

“What posh bullshit is this?” he says. “Expecting the queen or something?”

“Shut up. I have all this fancy shit now, might as well use it.”

Eggsy carefully puts the tray down, and yes, the tea set is fancy as fuck. (Brandon wonders if he’s brought it out because he doesn’t have any more clean mugs...) There’s a slight tremble in Eggsy’s hand when he puts the cups on the table and serves the tea. Both of them ignore it.

“Feel underdressed now,” Brandon says, lifting the cup and mockingly holding out his little finger.

Eggsy gives him a quick look-over. “You can take off your cap at least.”

“Over my dead body.”

Eggsy smiles and puts away the tray. 

Brandon frowns. “Since when don’t you take milk?”

“A while,” Eggsy mumbles.

Brandon wants to kick himself. “Aw, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Eggsy sits down on the other side of the table, tucking his legs under himself and not for a second questioning why they are on the floor.

Brandon taps the deck of cards against the table again. He shuffles twice for appearance sake and deals the cards without asking what they are going to play. Or _if_ they are. Eggsy picks up the cards and starts sorting them.

“Rummy?” he says to confirm when Brandon puts the rest of the deck down and turns the top one over.

Brandon nods and Eggsy draws a card. They played a lot of cards at school, both during breaks and classes they didn’t go to. All kinds. Jamal’s dad had taught them how to play to keep them busy and it would be a lie to say that it didn’t help keep them out of trouble. 

Eggsy wins the first round. Brandon almost tips his cup over twice. Eggsy deals for the second round. They don’t say much and when they do it’s mostly about the game or some old, particularly epic game from the past.

Brandon wins the second and third round. Eggsy deals for the fourth.

“I don’t want this,” Eggsy suddenly says instead of drawing a card when it’s his turn. He stares at his cards, gripping them so hard they shake. “I don’t know how to stop. I’ve tried, I’ve-- I, I don’t know how to stop.”

“Eggs,” Brandon says carefully, putting down the cards next to his tea, “I don’t think anyone does.”

“I tried. I can’t. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, and how many times did you fall on your arse before you could stick a kip up? Some things take _a lot_ of work. And help.”

Eggsy meets his eyes, but Brandon isn’t sure he hears him. 

“I don’t think anyone’s meant to do shit like this on their own,” Brandon says. “Because, because it’s really, fucking hard, okay? And you have us, always, you know that, right? But you need more. We ain’t, we… Like, you need people who know about this shit, proper people who can help you get better. If that’s… if that’s what you want.”

Eggsy nods. A wave of relief washes over Brandon. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and opens the Google docs Jamal has shared with him and Ryan (and Roxy). He pushes it over the table to Eggsy.

“Jamal’s made a list,” he says. “Blogs and pods and shit. Recovery help, that kind of stuff. It can, I don’t know, be a start? See if there’s something, you know? I can send it to you, or I can ask Jamal to make it shorter first.”

Eggsy looks at the phone somewhat cautiously, but puts down his cards to scroll through the list. It’s an overwhelmingly long list, Brandon hasn’t had the mental energy to go through all of it and he has a feeling Jamal is frustrated with both him and Ryan for not adding to it themselves.

“You ain’t alone,” Brandon goes on, “there are so many blokes out there with the same shit. And people get better. They really do. There are-- Aw, shit.”

Brandon stops himself when Eggsy starts trying to wipe tears from his eyes with his hand. He quickly moves around the table -- without getting off the floor -- and awkwardly puts an arm around Eggsy’s shoulders. He pulls him to him as much as he can. 

“Mate, please don’t cry,” he mumbles. “You know I don’t know what to do with that.”

It doesn’t work, which he knew perfectly well that it wouldn’t, but after a while he manages to get Eggsy into a proper hug. To Brandon’s relief, Eggsy stops crying shortly after that and pulls away.

“Sorry,” Eggsy mumbles, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. 

“Don’t worry about it…” Brandon doesn’t take his hand from Eggsy’s back and makes sure to stay close since Eggsy doesn’t move away. After a moment of internal debate, he gently asks, “Who’s hitting you?”

Eggsy looks confused at him and Brandon shows on his own cheek where Eggsy’s bruise is. Eggsy blushes and looks down, shaking his head.

“I fainted at work,” he mutters. “Think I hit the sewing table. Or a chair.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”

Eggsy nods. “Had eaten two eggs and five toasts or something in like three days.”

“Damn, Eggsy.”

“Shut up…”

“What did they say at the shop?”

“Sent me home.”

“Do they know? Other than Roxy?”

Eggsy shakes his head. “I don’t want to lose this job.”

“They can’t sack you for being sick! That’s illegal.”

“I ain’t sick, it’s my own fault.”

“Fuck that, none of that’s true. And it doesn’t fucking matter. Like if you broke your leg jumping over a railing, then it _would_ be your fault and they still can’t fire you.”

“You sound like Ryan’s dad when you talk like that,” Eggsy mutters. 

Brandon chuckles. “So comrades, come rally.”

Eggsy smiles, barely but still. Ryan’s parents had met while protesting during the miners’ strike and over the years Brandon, Eggsy and Jamal had suffered through many drunken lectures about the importance of unions next to Ryan.

“For real, though,” says Brandon, “this ain’t your fault and if those posh wankers don’t get that, then they ain’t worth it. No job is.”

Eggsy’s smile slowly fades. Without much warning he half-leans, half-falls against Brandon’s shoulder with a deep sigh. Brandon, startled at first, moves his arm so that it rests around Eggsy’s shoulders again.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but they sit like that until J.B. needs to get out. Eggsy untangles himself and starts to put the tea set back on the tray, but Brandon stops him.

“Leave it,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

“You sure?”

“Already carried half a china shop from here to the sink. Think I’ll manage some more.”

Eggsy frowns.

“Promise not to break nothing.” Brandon winks. “You go for a walk with J.B., I’ll do some dishes, and then we’ll finish the game.”

Eggsy still frowns, but then he smiles. “We have to shuffle the cards again, you’ve seen mine.”

“Heh, sure. Mine are arse.”

Eggsy snorts, it’s honest to God an actual laugh and Brandon grins at him. Eggsy gets up and tells J.B. to come along. The dog more than happily follows him.

Brandon watches them leave, and before he does anything else, he shares the Google docs with Eggsy -- and lets Jamal know that he has. Then he starts to gather the fancy tea set, only half-scared to death that he’ll break it, and goes to the kitchen to start working on the mountain that is Eggsy’s dirty dishes.

* * *

Eggsy gets into the bullet train that will bring him from the shop to the mansion. He’s showered, shaved, and put on a suit. It’s almost two weeks since he got back from Svalbard and another two days until the usual post-mission R&R is up, but after spending a couple of days going through Jamal’s list, and asking Roxy for advice, he has realised that he can’t come back without addressing… this.

And if it were to be the end of his time here, then better it be now than after he has caused irreversible damage to the agency. 

As the train starts to move he retrieves his mobile for his pocket and texts Roxy.

_Seen Merlin today?_

She replies almost instantly.

_Manning the station._  
_You know, for a change._  
_Why?_

He pauses. She’ll figure it out anyway no matter what he says and if he tells her it’s harder to chicken out. So...

_Need to talk to him_

_About…_

_Yep_

_I’ll be in my office if you need me after._

The train starts to slow down so he puts away the phone without answering. It stops and he takes a deep breath before getting out. Every step he takes along the familiar corridors is reluctant and it’s as if the walls slowly close in on him, but he knows he has to do this. 

For Kingsman’s sake.

For his colleagues’ sake.

For his sake.

That last one is hard -- no matter what his friends tell him -- so he focuses on the first two. 

The door to the control room is open, as it most often is. Merlin sits with his back to the door, in front of the many screens following the three agents currently in the field. Eggsy stands there for a moment, watching the feed from what he thinks is Bors’ glasses, a sunset somewhere in central Asia. None of the screens seem to show any active situations.

A lump starts to form in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave this. He wants to stay, he wants to keep saving the world. He wants to keep doing something he can be proud of.

He clears his throat to announce his presence. “Merlin, do you have a moment?”

Merlin turns his chair around, giving him a quick look-over while frowning. “Still not wearing your glasses, I see.”

“No, I… No.” Eggsy shakes his head. “Not really back yet, but, em, I… I want to talk to you. About that. About what happened.”

“Come in,” says Merlin, nodding in the direction of an empty chair next to him. “Glad I can’t see Tristan’s hand on your face anymore, by the way. I swear, sometimes, you agents just… Close the door if you want.”

Eggsy does and when he walks over to sit down on the appointed chair he notices that all feeds are suddenly on mute. His heart is beating hard and he has to remind himself to breathe. He keeps watching the screens as he sits down.

“Well?” asks Merlin.

He turns to Merlin, his eyes fixed on his chest rather than his face. The words are stuck and can’t get out. He can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this! 

“Lad,” says Merlin softly, leaning forward a little so that his face comes into Eggsy’s view. He puts a hand on Eggsy’s knee, startling him. “What’s wrong?”

Tristan had almost died because he had a burger and some chips.

The world could have ended because he ate dinner.

That’s what’s wrong.

Eggsy lets go of a shaky breath. “I have an eating disorder.”

The last word almost disappears and he’s not entirely sure he actually says it. Or he wouldn’t have been if not for the fact that Merlin’s eyes widen. Eggsy’s chin trembles and his throat closes up, but he digs his nails into the palm of his hands because he has to get through this.

He looks at the sunset Bors is still transmitting. 

“I didn’t take off my glasses to pee,” he says, forcing himself to look back at Merlin and meet his eyes. “I-- I, I… I think I need some help...”


	8. Epilogue

There’s a faint scent of lavender in the small waiting room and a soft flute playing from a speaker on the bookshelf. It’s probably there to be calming, but Eggsy finds it incredibly provoking.

He sits in a grey armchair, dressed in jeans and a black polo, his cap in his hands. His heart beats hard. His mouth is dry. His eyes are fixed on the white painted door with the sign Dr Trevor Ranade next to it, mostly so he won’t look at the terrible motivational posters that hang on the walls. He feels queasy -- the lavender doesn’t help -- and restless. Most of all he feels nervous, perhaps even scared. Scared to fail, scared to succeed, scared to be judged, scared to lose everything he had gained. (Scared to gain everything he had lost…)

When Merlin had grasped what it was Eggsy actually told him he had called in Morgan to watch the agents in the field and then they had taken a long walk around the Kingsman estate. It had resulted in a few, mutually agreed upon action points. Most importantly, extending Eggsy’s time off active duty at least until they were in a better position to make other decisions. Merlin had been very clear that this did not jeopardize Eggsy’s place at the Table, the relief of which had made Eggsy unable to reply for several hundred meters. 

Now, three weeks later, Eggsy sits in the waiting room of an outpatient clinic for a first assessment. Perhaps it will lead to a diagnosis, perhaps not, but that’s not the important part. The important part is to be there at all, to talk to someone who might know more, might know better. 

Merlin had made some calls and picked this place. Eggsy isn’t completely sure what his criteria were, but the fact that this clinic specializes in eating disorders in men made it clear that it hadn’t just been about finding someone with a high enough security clearance or whatever.

His mobile buzzes. It’s Ryan sending him a badger. In quick succession Jamal and Brandon send him badgers as well.

He sends one back.

Roxy sends a snake, because she’s a really proud Slytherin. 

Eggsy looks at what to anyone else would be a ridiculous conversation and smiles. He’s about to send a heart, because that’s so much easier than finding the words to say what he wants them to know, but then he erases it and types something else that he wants to say.

_Thank you_

His friends reply instantly with hearts in every colour available and at least one hugging gif each. A warmth spreads through his chest, soothing a lot of his nerves. That is until he hears the white painted door open and a man his mum’s age says his name with a welcoming smile.

Eggsy stands up, keeping his phone in a tight grip, and somehow manages to smile back. It feels eerily similar to when he’d been about to jump out an aeroplane not knowing if he had a parachute on or not. 

The difference is that this time he knows he has a safety net that will catch him if he falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, it means a lot and I hope you like it!
> 
> Things are what they are, all we can do is look after each other and be there for each other. Ask the difficult questions, it's worth it. 
> 
> And don't forget to treat yourself like you would treat a friend..
> 
> If you want to, you can find me on Tumblr at [solrosan](https://solrosan.tumblr.com/) or at my Kingsman blog [agentsandbutterflies](https://agentsandbutterflies.tumblr.com/). I'm also on discord as solrosan.


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